


Raspberry, Cherry

by Shotgun_Cake



Series: Flavors of lust [2]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: (or is he?), A hint of exhibitionism but not really, Andrés is eating a Popsicle and Martín is struggling to cope, As is his right, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Frustrated Martín, Horny losers in love, M/M, Oblivious Andrés, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Popsicles, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut, That's the plot!, Unresolved Sexual Tension, that's it!, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26139916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shotgun_Cake/pseuds/Shotgun_Cake
Summary: Martín is never going to the beach again. It's a small miracle that the towel he's holding bundled up on his lap is hiding anything. But Andrés doesn't know. He's just sunbathing lazily, staring at the waves.Going to town on his popsicle, like no straight man should.~~~OR: the first time Andrés eats a popsicle in front of Martín and, as it turns out, not the last time.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: Flavors of lust [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884799
Comments: 23
Kudos: 91





	Raspberry, Cherry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boom_slap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/gifts), [dashwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashwood/gifts).



> So I was genuinely joking when I first brought up this idea. I wasn’t actually _pitching_ it. But clearly, I have no one I can count on to stop me (and I'm thankful for it).
> 
> UPDATE: this story has now been [translated into Spanish](https://t.co/uZjmaBemKL), confirming my long-held belief that everything sounds way hotter in Spanish. I read it and went into overdrive, as though I had _no idea_ what would happen. That's how powerful that language is. Once again, many thanks to [Ro](https://twitter.com/loliflopygomez) for translating it.

Martín doesn't think he's ever been this hard in his life. And he definitely hasn't been in such a critical state _in public._

He's never going to the beach again. 

It's a small miracle that the towel he's holding bundled up on his lap is hiding anything. But Andrés doesn't know. He's just sunbathing lazily, staring at the waves.

Going to town on his popsicle, like no straight man should. 

The way he keeps swirling his tongue around the head – well, the _top_ – closing his eyes as he does. 

It's obscene.

The worst part? The thing is raspberry flavored. So it's pink. Dark pink, verging on red. Just like Martín's flushed face. Just like Martín's- well. Probably. He's so fucking turned on, color no longer fully registers for him at this point. He needs to touch himself so badly. He's afraid he might come from the sight alone.

Actually, that wasn't even the worst part yet. Of course, not. If all of that wasn't enough already, Andrés has started to moan periodically. Well, not moaning. _Humming_. Because _“it's such a delicious treat, Martín, you should try it, trust me!”_

Martín had popsicles before, thank you very much. And even his slutty ass doesn't eat them like that. Like- 

Like a pornstar, truly. Like Andrés is hoping for a nomination in the _'Blowjob of the Year'_ category. Like he's gonna get it. The nomination, the award, all of it.

It's a torture to watch him, and impossible not to. He knows the sort of man that it makes him, to be gawking at his friend like that. His straight friend. To picture him with his lips stretched out around his cock, swallowing him down like that. As if Andrés would ever- 

There is something deeply wrong with him, with his brain. Something sick. This isn't news.

Still, it took him by surprise, that one. 

Andrés's actions, obviously, but his own desires too. Because Martín has imagined, before, what it would be like for him to suck Andrés's cock. Many, many times. It's his go-to fantasy at this point. It's his thing, it's what he does. And it is the most realistic scenario for them. Someday, when Andrés is feeling lonely, or drunk, or heartbroken, maybe… He might seek Martín out, if only for that one thing. A helpful friend. A warm, welcoming mouth. Andrés knows he could, right? He'd probably assume Martín, promiscuous and shameless, would be up for anything. And in that case, he'd be absolutely correct. Martín would jump on that chance in a heartbeat.

But the other way around? The mental picture of Andrés giving _him_ a blowjob? Well, this _is_ new. It's outrageous. And obviously, one of the hottest fucking things he's ever seen. 

Martín didn't need that. It's too much.

And because it seems that this day is trying to _break_ him, Andrés has decided he's done flicking his tongue across the tip of his popsicle, and is sliding it back into his mouth. 

Once again, Martín shouldn't be seeing this.

Once again, he can't physically look away.

As Andrés lowers his slick, shiny lips around the shaft – the _length_ – of the popsicle, he opens his eyes again and, of fucking course, they immediately land on Martín. 

He smiles around the thing and, thankfully, takes it out of his mouth. 

“Are you sure you don't want one, Martín? In this heat? It's just what you need…”

Martín shakes his head frantically, but Andrés closed his eyes again before he saw it.

“I'm good, thanks.”

The fact that Andrés is so completely oblivious to what he's doing shouldn't make Martín even harder than he already was _(how?),_ but it does.

“Your loss.”

Yep, his loss. Today is Martín's loss in so many ways. 

He still stares at Andrés until he's licked and sucked and _swallowed_ every last inch of the popsicle. He couldn't help himself. 

~~~

Martín might have been slightly misguided, a few lifetimes ago, when he claimed he would never step foot on a beach again. 

After all, the beach is his backyard now – and the beach buddy, his husband. A private little corner of the seaside all to themselves. Could life on the run get any sweeter than that?

Although in this very moment, Martín's struggles continue. He's been sitting still on his beach chair, with his book laid open across his groin, for a good ten minutes. 

God forbid he can catch a break. 

If he thought Andrés was shameless in the way he enjoyed popsicles back when he considered himself straight, well, nowadays it's much, much worse. 

Because before, Martín could tell himself it was simply his imagination. That Andrés wouldn't look like that if he ever gave a blowjob, of course not, that was just his own dirty mind making the connection.

But now? Martín knows exactly what Andrés looks like with his lips around a cock. His cock, specifically. He knows the sounds he makes, and how fast he swirls his tongue. He knows the shape of his mouth and the way his eyes flutter closed when he swallows around him. 

So when he sees Andrés thrusting the bright red cherry-flavored monstrosity into his mouth, Martín knows full well he's not imagining anything. Andrés is, in this very moment, an absolute cock-tease. 

He's probably not even doing it on purpose. The crazy thing about Martín's life – one of the crazy things – is that now, Andrés sucks his cock _all the time._ Martín never asks. He didn't even ask _once._ It just happens for him. The universe has been that kind. 

So Andrés, with all this blowjob practice, is now falling victim to the good old Pavlovian reflex of putting a cylindrical object into his mouth, and doing to it what he often does in that situation. Sucking and licking, moaning and slurping. 

And looking like a living breathing wet dream doing it. 

He has no idea. 

So focused on his task that he is. He's blissfully unaware of the way he looks. And entirely oblivious to Martín's predicament. Rude. 

Andrés shoves the frozen treat deeper into his mouth, and Martín's breath catches in his throat. He nearly chokes on his own saliva. What a way to go...

Another update on Andrés? Yeah, he can deepthroat, now. Like a champ. Which is, incidentally, what he's doing to the popsicle in this instant. 

Martín inevitably lets out a strangled sound, and of course, Andrés hears it. He looks up at him and catches him staring.

“It was _melting”,_ Andrés explains, very matter of fact _._ “What was I supposed to do?”

“Just lick it like a normal person”, Martín offers, a strain in his voice. 

Andrés simply raises his eyebrows, genuinely pondering the suggestion, before taking Martín's advice. In the worst possible way. 

He starts lapping at the popsicle, little flicks of his tongue along the side, his eyes closed as though he savors the taste better that way. He probably does. Something about a _'sensorial experience'_ Andrés must have mentioned before.

Red juice is coating his lips, making them look darker, more swollen. Probably sweet to the taste. Martín isn’t the biggest fan of cherry, and still, he feels the urge to kiss it off his lips.

He feels the urge to do much more than just kiss him.

As Andrés starts mouthing at the popsicle more than licking it, he makes eye contact with Martín again. A smile slowly spreads on his face.

“Do you want some?”

“You know I don't like cherry flavor-”

“No no no”, Andrés cuts him off, laying a firm hand over Martín's knee. “You don't listen, cariño… Do you _want some?”_

Before Martín can process that, ice cold lips are pressed against his neck. They’re slightly sticky too. Andrés starts mouthing at his skin, a delicious tingle spreading in his trail.

“Tell me, Martín. Is my tongue cold to the touch?”

He feels said tongue, licking a stripe up his throat, and nearly falls off his chair. He lets his fingers slide into Andrés's hair, grounding him, as goosebumps start to prickle at his skin. It should be uncomfortable, but it's not. It’s many things.

“A little cold, but-”

“But you don't mind, do you? You like it…”

Andrés carefully lifts Martín's book from his lap and puts it away, exposing his tented swimsuit. With a grin, he gets up from his own chair and keels in the sand between Martín's legs.

There’s something about the way he stares up at him. On his knees, careless under the sun. His lips are still so bright and swollen, because of the sticky juice, because of the cold. His hair is all tousled from the wind.

He’s a vision. He always is.

Andrés’s hand starts playing with the hem of Martín swim trunks. His other hand-

“Look, your- Andrés, look! Your popsicle is melting-”

He studies his own sticky hand, almost surprised. As though he couldn’t feel the ice cold juice dripping down his hand, coating his fingers. Andrés shrugs and just drops the half eaten popsicle in the sand without a care in the world.

“I'm not hungry anymore.”

Still, when he meets Martín's eyes again, he makes a show of licking his hand clean, humming as he does. He takes his sweet time to suck around his own fingers, almost distractedly. Almost.

In that moment, Martín hates him. 

When he's licked every last drop, Andrés makes a sudden grab for Martín's swimsuit again and drags it down his thighs. He barely glances at his cock before he leans in and slowly starts taking him into his mouth.

Martín lets out a loud groan and his hands clench into fists by his sides.

The inside of Andrés’s mouth is no longer cold, but his lips still are, sending shivers across his skin where they’re wrapped around his dick. 

His tongue is still cold too. Somehow. It tingles deliciously.

Andrés starts bobbing his head, and Martín needs to focus so hard not to come immediately. From the intensity, the pressure, the hot and cold. Or maybe just from seeing Andrés like that. Martín is transfixed. He notices his thighs are trembling already.

When Andrés takes him in deeper, Martín throws his head back and his eyes snap shut, tensing and moaning uncontrollably.

Andrés drags his lips up his cock and lets it go with a loud _'pop'._

“No, you're not closing your eyes. You've been looking quite a lot, already, haven’t you Martín? Now is not the time to look away. Eyes on me.”

Martín looks down just in time to watch Andrés stick his tongue out and start lapping along the length of his cock. He grunts desperately, fighting the need to thrust his hips, to lean into his touch. 

Andrés is holding Martín’s cock to his lips and flicking his tongue against it, in the exact same way he did to the popsicle, just now. So it was intentional, then. Martín shouldn't be surprised. Well. Blood hasn't exactly been rushing to his brain, recently.

It seems Andrés's lips are slowly getting warmer against his burning skin, but his tongue keeps sending shivers down his spine, ice cold darts of pleasure. 

How is it still so cold, when all of Martín’s nerve endings are on fire?

It’s confusing, and intoxicating. 

And Andrés knows how good he looks like that. How depraved. That’s why he insisted Martín doesn’t take his eyes off of him.

At last, Andrés gets tired of tormenting him with delicate touches – cold little flicks, teasing, barely there – and lays his tongue flat against the underside of his cock. He licks him from base to head, pressing, insistent. 

“Andrés, fuck!”

He's treating him exactly like the popsicle. This isn't just for his pleasure. This is for show. 

This is _working._

“Andrés, I swear to god!”

He feels a sharp breath against his sensitive skin before he hears the chuckle. And then Martín's cock is engulfed into his warm mouth again, the tip of Andrés's nose soon pressed against his pubic bone. 

Andrés only has to look up and swallow once, tightening his throat around the head of his cock, for Martín to lose it completely. Just like he's been trying _so hard_ to avoid, Martín finds himself bucking his hips against Andrés’s face, once, twice, and desperately thrusts his cock in and out his mouth.

Andrés's gaze doesn't leave him. He doesn't even choke, only fluttering his eyelids for a bit. He's _pleased._ He always is when Martín loses control. Today, he got him there quite fast. 

Still, both of his hands find Martín’s hips to push him back into his chair, harshly. To hold him in place. A helpful gesture, but also a warning. Martín cannot slip up again. 

Martín nods, too breathless to voice his understanding out loud, and Andrés digs his fingers into his hips before he starts bobbing his head again. 

The lewd noises Martín hears as his member slides in and out of Andrés’s mouth are driving him insane. There is no longer a hint of cold on his lips, nothing but warmth, tight and wet around his throbbing cock, and Martín knows it won't take much longer for him to come down his throat. 

He tries to focus on something else. His eyes land on the bright puddle in the sand where the discarded popsicle used to be. 

Martín is the one who's been melting.

**Author's Note:**

> Deepest thanks to [boom_slap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/pseuds/boom_slap) for that [gorgeous art](https://twitter.com/boom_slap/status/1299006952467501058) she made. Like, she created that. Herself. And now I'm meant to move on with my life. Rude.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Come and find me! 🍒  
>  **@[ _shotgun-cake_](https://shotgun-cake.tumblr.com)** on Tumblr  
>  **@[ _Shotgun_Cake_](https://twitter.com/Shotgun_Cake?s=09)** on Twitter


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